9

Nine-year-old Varick skipped about the forest, collecting in his palms an assortment of colorful items. Once finished, he trotted back into the castle grounds, and through the meandering gardens, to where Mother sat reading. Her blacks curls trailed down her back like thick ribbons of night.

“Oh my, what have you brought me today?” she said when he trotted up to her.

He held out his hands for her to see.

“Blue and purple mushrooms, how lovely,” she said. “And white wildflowers; they smell so fragrant! And is this moss? What a splendid bouquet you’ve made.”

“It’s for you, Mama!” He hopped up and down.

She took the wild assortment. “My, thank you.” She smiled warmly. “It’s time for dinner, dear. Your papa just arrived home. Let’s go inside and see him.”

She took his hand in hers.

The dining room, when they entered, was decorated for the Autumn Festival, and Varick’s eyes gleamed with awe. Pumpkins and colorful squashes made a table centerpiece and lined the mantles. Strings of colorful leaves and acorns hung from the ceiling and wrapped around decorative columns.

“What do you think of our work, young Master?” asked Licht, one of the many nymiads working and living in the castle.

“It’s beautiful!” Varick exclaimed.

Schatten nodded, “Good. It would be a shame if no one else appreciated the décor. Do you know how long it took to string all those acorns and leaves? They kept breaking apart; it was a nightmare, I tell you.”

“You whine too much, Schatten,” said another nymiad, to which all the others laughed.

“Varick, I brought you your favorite.” His father appeared, traveling cape still on, and a tin box in his arm. His silver eyes smiled.

“Papa!” Varick ran to him, hugging his middle.

Papa laughed and tousled his hair. Varick snatched the box and eagerly opened it. The scent of pumpkin spice filled his nose when he did. “Pumpkin crumpets!” His feet danced in place with glee, and he popped a crumpet into his mouth.

“Now dear, eat dinner first,” said Mama.

“Oh let him be a kid. It only lasts for so long,” said Grandmamma, who lived in the castle with them. She crouched to Varick, “How about we go carve faces into those pumpkins, afterwards?”

“Yes, yes!” Varick bounced on his heels.

Such a happy day, Varick recalled. Everything peaceful and perfect, his family all around him, the castle festive and bright.

He’d carved pumpkins with Grandmamma on the floor, making a mess, while the nymiads laughed and egged him on to carve silly faces. And the desserts after dinner were the best he’d ever had.

He ate while Papa told them stories of his travels. He loved listening to his tales about distant cities and strange cultures. It fueled Varick’s imagination.

“I want to see the outside world, Papa!”

Papa smiled and patted his head, tousling his thick hair. “When you’re older, how about that? I’ll show you all my favorite places.”

Yes, it had been a happy day. But the following morning…that was when Varick’s bright world changed.

Varick woke to the sound of shattering glass, followed by shouts.

He yanked his robe on quickly and ran into the hallway, towards the staircase to see what the commotion was.

Grandmamma met him at the top stair. “Varick, come here! We have to leave!” Panic trembled in her voice.

“What’s going on?” Varick moved to see around her.

She tried to block him, but he dashed to the balcony section and looked down onto the entry hall.

A nightmarish scene spread before him. People dressed in black were climbing in through broken windows—humans, fangless and with round ears. They carried guns and crossbows and torches.

Papa was in the fray, punching and kicking, using his vempar speed and strength to cut down the humans. But more and more kept pouring in, like a stream of insects. A cluster of nymiads tried to fight back the tide, wielding an assortment of blades and fire.

“Grandmamma, take Varick and go!” Papa shouted, sparing only a glance to meet their gazes above.

It was then that Varick saw Mama: lying on the cold floor not far from where Papa was battling. Wooden stakes stuck out of her chest, a trail of blood fell from the corner of her mouth.

“Mama?” Varick called out.

She wasn’t moving. “Mama!” he shouted urgently.

“Varick!” Grandmamma caught his arm and began dragging him away.

“Mama… Mama, Mama!” he screamed. “Papa!”

“We love you, Varick. Now follow your Grandmamma!” called Papa’s voice.

Varick couldn’t stop the sobs and tears that tore out of him, as Grandmamma pulled him firmly away from the staircase and back toward the opposite end of the hallway, where there was a servants’ staircase. They hurried down, feet muffled under a worn carpet.

Varick barely noticed where they were going, until they were already running through the backyard gardens, leaves and twigs snapping underfoot. With so much autumn foliage, it was impossible to mask their noise, and soon Varick heard a human shout.

“They’ve found us!” Grandmamma whispered to herself, her hand gripping his arm shaking.

More human voices came, and blasts echoed from guns. Bullets plinked the bushes and ground around them. “Varick, run! You’re young, you can get away faster than I can,” she told him.

Varick whipped his head from side to side. “I’m not leaving you!”

Blood trickled from Grandmamma’s mouth. “You have to…” she wheezed.

“No! Why are they doing this?”

“Humans hate us. They’ve always…hated us…”

Another volley of bullets whizzed past, and Grandmamma fell forward, hitting her knees then sinking onto her side. “Run…” she could barely say.

A burning pain lanced through Varick’s chest suddenly, and he wasn’t sure if it was emotion or injury, until his chest felt wet as a breeze rolled past. He looked down to find his shirt and robe stained red, right where his heart should be.

He wanted to cry or scream, but his body simply sunk forward and his head rested against dirt and dry leaves. He blinked, trying to stay awake, trying to understand why all of this was happening.

The humans in their dark clothes approached, and one drew out a blade, slashing it across Grandmamma’s throat. Varick tried to make his limbs move, tried to fight back, but the blade soon came towards him, slashing downward.

Kchnk!

A flash of silver light blasted the blade out of the male human’s hand. He appeared puzzled for a second, and then more flashes of silver streaked through the air—cutting down humans like a scythe. Varick kept his eyes open, watching, stunned.

A man in dark robes came into his vision, the flashes coming from him, or rather from his robe, silver crescent moons that sliced through the air like blades. Varick wasn’t sure when it ended, but he suddenly saw the strange man kneeling before him, touching his chest.

“This wound will kill you,” the man told him. “But I have something that can freeze the wound in place so that you will live. If that is what you want?”

Varick didn’t know if his parents were still alive, but if they were, then he had to survive too. He nodded slightly.

The man pulled something out from his robes: a band of silver with a ruby in the shape of a rose, and clicked it around Varick’s neck. “This mage artifact can keep you alive, but only under one condition: You must never fall in love. If you do, the spell will break and you will die.”

Varick remembered the feel of life returning to his body as the artifact did its work. And he remembered racing towards the front of the castle, hurrying into the entry hall, only to find his parents both lay dead on the slick floor.

Deceased humans and nymiads also littered the space. Varick’s stomach heaved, like it never had before.

Vempars could heal from most injuries, but they had limits. The bullet lodged in Varick’s heart prevented healing. And his parents’ hearts had been torn out, gone.

He came to know the man who had saved him as Lord Kalt, a user of magic—or whatever it was. He helped Varick bury his parents, and his magic worked to clean and fix the damage done. He promised to take over the ruling of the human town below, in place of his parents, and would make sure they never attacked or approached the castle again.

Not being able to love didn’t seem like a difficult thing for Varick, then. There was no one left in his life to love. He kept the curse a secret, though, telling Licht and the others who’d survived that the artifact would merely make his appearance ugly if he ever loved someone.

He didn’t want anyone to know the truth: that the wound to his heart would reappear and he would die.

Varick opened his eyes now, staring up at the canopy over his bed glittering with silver stars. Rosen wouldn’t know the truth about the curse, just as Licht did not know.

It was better that way.